


In Need of Advice

by Josselin



Series: Three Pieces of Advice [2]
Category: Captive Prince - S. U. Pacat
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-01
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-03 00:36:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1724714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Josselin/pseuds/Josselin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Laurent learns about Akielon domestic habits from the theater, and Damen is confused. Takes place after <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/1614125">Three Pieces of Advice</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

The keep steward Erkule tucked it in amongst the other announcements he shared with Damen as though it were just one more piece of news, one additional petition to be heard that day, no more notable than any other the others.

"And the prince requests your presence in his chambers this evening."

Damen had only been paying half attention to Erkule in the first place. Erkule was a competent administrator and he approached Damen with more questions than Damen ever felt the need to answer. Erkule had found his match better in Laurent, who had just as many opinions about the running of the keep at Ios as he did on every other subject, and a tendency to interrupt Erkule's monologues with a sudden interruption that showed that not only was he still paying careful attention -- though he might appear as distracted outwardly as Damen himself -- but that he fully understood the running of the keep and even had ideas to improve its efficiency.

Damen stopped in the middle of the hallway. Erkule came to a halt a step later. 

"What?" said Damen.

"The visiting musician from Patras is requesting an exorbitant raise --"

"No, before that."

"Prince Laurent requests your presence in his chambers this evening?"

"Yes."

"What about it, your highness?" said Erkule, looking apprehensive at Damen’s sudden attention to his list.

Damen hesitated. The request itself was clear enough, and it could only have come from Laurent. It was phrased in the traditional manner. There was an Akielon tradition that while the King ruled the keep and the country, the Consort ruled the King. The Consort could not remove the King from the field, or keep him from his men. But the Consort could request the King's presence, and from everything Damen had ever heard in stories of past Akielon kings, it was not an invitation that could be refused. 

Damen had never seen his parents observe this particular tradition. If Queen Egeria had summoned King Theomedes in that manner it had happened before Damen's birth. Perhaps exactly nine months before; Egeria had died birthing Damen. Growing up, Damen had only seen Theomedes with Hypermenestra, his longstanding mistress. A mistress did not interact with the King with the same manners as a Consort.

"Those were the prince's exact words?" said Damen, starting again down the hall.

Erkule matched his step. "Yes, your highness."

Damen nodded. "Continue. The visiting musician--"

 

The King's bedchambers were separated from the Consort's by a set of elaborately carved wooden double doors.

When Theomedes had died, Damen had assumed he would move into the King’s chambers with the Consort’s still empty and the doors between them locked. Despite his father’s admonitions, he had not immediately planned to marry. But as events had unfolded, Damen had left Ios shortly after his father’s death and by the time he returned he did bring with him a royal consort. 

Damen stood in his own bedchamber in front of the doors, oddly nervous. He rested his hand on the door, feeling the carving under his fingers. The wood was inlaid with a geometric carving, carefully done by some artisan for one of Damen's ancestors generations ago. He wondered how many Akielon kings had stood exactly where he stood at that moment, having the same types of apprehensions about what lay on the other side of the doors.

He moved his hand to ring of metal that served to open the doors, and pulled the door in toward his room.

There was a small chamber between the two rooms so that both the King and the Consort had his own set of doors and, most importantly, their own locks. The antechamber featured most prominently in comedies in the theater, where cuckolds tended to hide behind the doors in a series of implausible but humorous coincidences. There was no one else hiding in the small space between the two rooms now. Damen hesitated again, and then finally he raised his hand and pushed on the door that led into Laurent's room.

He had a moment, before his hand touched the door, of thinking that the door would be locked, but it was not, and it swung open slowly into Laurent's room, revealing chambers that were a mirror image of his own. 

The room was not empty. Laurent stood in the middle of the room, looking curiously over at the doors as they opened, seeing Damen in the doorway. Damen suddenly realized that it would have been more polite to knock, first, even if he had been invited and the door was unlocked.

"Good evening," said Laurent.

"Good evening," said Damen, stepping into the room one pace.

"I did not know if you would actually come; I only know of the custom from the theater."

"In the theater, there would usually be a fat man hiding in the antechamber," said Damen.

Laurent wrinkled his nose. "That seems unpleasant."

Damen did not know what his place was in this room. "Did you send for me only to see if I would come?"

"I suppose I knew that you would come. I sent for you because I wanted to see what happened next."

Damen stood still, as though he were holding parade formation in a drill and the general were performing an inspection. "What happens next?"

"What traditionally happens when the Consort sends for the King?" said Laurent.

They both knew the answer to that; neither of them were talking about it. Damen looked at Laurent -- he could not help but look at Laurent -- but he was careful not to touch. Laurent touched, sometimes, leaning in to Damen's space when they were standing together, or bending over his shoulder when he was seated. But Laurent also sometimes flinched when he did not see Damen come up behind him. 

Laurent moved across the room, his grace applied to simply crossing the mosaic tiles toward his husband. 

He stood close to Damen. Standing close together, Laurent's forehead hit at about Damen's chin. Laurent tilted his head back, he looked up toward Damen's eyes. He was close enough that Damen could see each of his eyelashes; they were absurdly long and darker than his hair. 

When Damen tore his gaze away from Laurent's eyelashes, he realized that the whole of Laurent's face was expressing his dissatisfaction. "You are such a giant," said Laurent, sounding annoyed. "Perhaps if you sit down."

"I am not sure that I can," said Damen, sounding choked.

"You have trouble sitting?" said Laurent, with a truly Veretian tone of disdain, somehow managing to express that Damen having trouble sitting would not surprise him, and yet it was a mild inconvenience. Laurent had a sitting chair arranged near to the bed, he dragged it across the tile floor near to where Damen was still frozen. He pushed on Damen's chest with two hands. Damen felt the pressure of Laurent’s hands on his chest, then he succumbed and fell backwards to sit down in the chair. Laurent followed him down, settling his knees on either side of Damen's thighs.

In this position, Laurent was taller, and Damen had to tilt his head up slightly to look at Laurent. Laurent rested his hands on Damen's shoulders; he seemed to be regarding Damen's lips closely, and then he was leaning in, and then finally they were kissing.

They had not kissed in the months since the wedding ceremony, when the Veretian attendant who had trailed Damen the entire day had informed him that a formal kiss was traditional, and Damen had bent willingly enough to brush his lips against Laurent's when he had been cued by the officiant. He had not felt anything at the time, it had just been one more step in the elaborate Veretian ceremony, no better and no worse than any of the others.

This was better. This kiss was not without feeling. Damen had not realized, when they married, that a kiss was something that ought to be treasured, that it might have been only begrudgingly given, or that it had even been something that he desired. He could remember almost nothing about that moment. He felt now, rather, that he might never forget. He could feel the weight of Laurent’s body partially on his lap, the warmth of Laurent’s hands on his shoulders, the velvet nap of the arms of the chair as he clutched the arms with white-knuckled fingers. Laurent had leaned in and brushed his own lips to Damen’s, then separated slightly, and then leaned in again for a longer pressure. Damen was close enough that he thought Laurent was holding his breath; he did not know how Laurent was not lightheaded. 

Laurent leaned back again, slightly, and Damen tightened his fingers on the chair again as he fought the urge to bring his hands to Laurent’s face, and instead he let Laurent lean in, slowly, a third time.

Damen could not hold himself back any longer. He traced his lips along the edge of Laurent’s jaw, feeling the smallest bristle of stubble, and then move further along, nuzzling at Laurent’s neck. Laurent squirmed slightly as though he were ticklish, but he was smiling when their eyes met again. 

Their lips met again. With their mouths coming together but his hands held steadily separate Damen felt like some sort of beast -- like a sea lion on the beach, perhaps, craning his neck for a fish, or a bird bobbing his head for bugs in the marsh. He could not bring himself to loose his hands from the chair. He felt as though Laurent were a phantom, and that if he reached out for him he would fade from the air as a vapor, substance-less beneath Damen’s hands.

Though even that did not entirely make sense. Laurent was sitting on his lap; Damen could feel his weight and his warmth. 

Laurent squirmed on his lap, which seemed a prelude to his quest to bring the kiss deeper, as he parted his lips slightly and invited Damen to taste inside his mouth.

Damen did not know how long they kissed. He felt as captured and bound to the chair, entirely at Laurent's mercy, not able to think. In his mind, it might have been hours that they sat there, the spell of the kiss broken only when Laurent reached for Damen's belt with one hand.

Damen moved suddenly, his own hand leaving its tight grasp on the arm of the chair and wrapping warningly around Laurent's wrist. Laurent leaned back and looked at him, questioningly. It was as much a stalemate as when they had played chess the day before in the garden.

Laurent flexed his hand. "Let go."

Damen released his hold on Laurent's wrist; Laurent pulled his arm back toward his chest, like a child who reaches toward a fire and then pulls his hand back in surprise.

"I need to get up," said Damen, and after another long moment of regard, Laurent unfolded himself and stood up, freeing Damen from the armchair. Damen stood.

Laurent looked at him from two steps away, his arm still held against his chest.

Damen felt helpless. “Laurent,” he said, searching for other words. “Thank you for inviting me to visit you.”

“You speak as though you are leaving.”

Damen nodded. “I think it is time for me to say good night.”

Laurent looked off to the side for a moment, seemingly pondering one of the marble tiles in the floor. “And if I should issue another invitation tomorrow? Will you come?”

It sounded wonderful; it sounded like torture of the worst nature. “Yes.”

“And will you stay longer than half of an hour?”

“Laurent,” Damen said. “I don’t -- I can’t --”

Either Laurent could make more sense of Damen’s befuddled feelings than Damen could himself, or Laurent lost interest in his babbling. “Good night.”

The two sets of carved wooden doors seemed to echo loudly behind Damen as he retreated.


	2. Chapter 2

The winter was festival season and they attended a theater performance the next day. The play was a tragedy, the story of a king who became so perplexed by a particular riddle told him by a wise woman that he neglected the tending of his kingdom. The riddle became his downfall, and though he eventually solved it, it was only to realize that in solving it he had lost everything else that was of value to him.

Damen shifted uncomfortably in his seat throughout the proceedings, finding his thoughts occupied, and then finding too many similarities between himself and the king in the story and directing his thoughts back to more practical matters before finding them drifting off again.

Laurent sat next to him in the row reserved for royal seating. Laurent’s demeanor was blandly attentive. He clapped at appropriate intervals, shifted his gaze from the masked faces of the chanting chorus to the actor playing the king as the action demanded. Laurent spoke Akielon now with perfect fluency, though he retained a slightly lilting accent that Damen found somehow charming. He was familiar with the customs of the keep in Ios, the visits of the kyroi, the traditions of the plain days and the festival days. He still dressed in Veretian style, covered from neck to toe in tightly laced jackets and trousers. The clothing could not always be comfortable in the Akielon heat, though it would not have been unpleasant in the cooler weather of the winter. 

The play ended in a lament given by the king and the chorus together, and after an offering was given at the altar, all of the theater masks thrown into the flames as was the tradition, the attendees began to exit the amphitheater. One of the wives of the kyroi engaged Laurent in conversation; Damen could see Laurent’s fair head inclined toward her as they walked slowly toward the exit and the dinner in the hall. Nikandros walked next to Damen. Damen appreciated his silent presence as a barrier to being engaged in conversation.

“You seem preoccupied,” said Nikandros. 

“What?” said Damen.

Nikandros smiled mildly.

“What is on your mind?”

Damen was not certain that he could bring himself to share the nature of his current predicament with the middle-aged general, particularly not in the middle of a crowd where gossips were likely hanging on his every word.

“I will confide in you later, old friend.”

“Of course,” said Nikandros.

They made plans to go riding together the following day.

After the festival evening meal, Damen again found himself standing hesitantly in front of the carved wooden doors between their rooms. He felt more trepidation standing in front of these doors than he had ever felt standing before a field of battle.

This evening, Damen knocked, and then listened closely at the door for Laurent’s reply. Laurent did not call out that Damen heard, but he suddenly pulled the door to his own rooms open from the inside, and Damen, who had almost had his ear pressed against it as he listened, was unbalanced. The effect was somewhat farcical. The corner of Laurent’s mouth twitched at Damen’s expense.

Laurent had rearranged his furniture, or directed some of his servants in doing so. Where the armchair he had dragged over the night before had sat there was now a chaise-lounge, and he motioned Damen over to it with a flick of his wrist.

Damen obeyed, and sat down lightly. Laurent followed him, pushing Damen over into a reclined position. "We will respect your sensibilities and keep our clothes on," Laurent told Damen, and Damen had no time to reply before they were kissing again. Damen was not sure how Laurent determined the moment that they were to stop -- perhaps he had a sand clock somewhere on the other side of the room that Damen could not spy -- but when the moment arrived Laurent pulled away, breathless, crawled off of Damen on the chaise-lounge, and then waited almost impatiently for Damen to gather his wits about him and leave. 

This proceeded for several nights. For two nights they kissed while Laurent's hidden sand clock spilled from the upper chamber to the lower and then Damen was banished back to his own room. On the fourth night Damen dared to lift his hands from the edge of the chaise, and he cupped Laurent's face delicately within them, and the sand clock seemed to run long.

Laurent did not call for him every night. Some nights Damen was not summoned. If there was a pattern to Laurent's desires Damen could not divine it. He found himself listening with new attention to Erkule's pattern of the day's events, and took to interrupting Erkule to ask about whether the prince had extended and invitation that day.

Damen went riding with Nikandros, and when Nikandros asked him again what weighed upon his mind, Damen said only that he was finding the combined duties as King of Akielos and Regent of Vere more taxing than he had anticipated.

The following week, Damen was tangentially aware that there was some kind of drama amongst the Prince's guard. Laurent had uncovered something compromising about one of his guard's loyalties, and he had dismissed the man in disgrace to return home. One of Laurent's other guards had called the man out, however, and he had died in a duel. 

Damen knocked on Laurent's door that evening to find that Laurent was well on his way to being completely drunk. He hesitated in the doorway. "Perhaps it is not a good night to visit."

"Is that so," said Laurent. There was something dangerous in his tone.

"You do not seem amorous," said Damen.

"Of course, we must only visit when everything is perfect."

Damen eyed Laurent for a long moment and then sat down next to where Laurent was clutching a bottle on his chaise-lounge. "If I am to be your drinking companion you must actually share the drink," he told Laurent. 

Damen was not unaccustomed to heavy drink. He was a soldier, he had lived all his life with soldiers. There had been many occasions when soldiers decided that drinking was the preferred path for a particular day, some of the occasions celebratory, others elegiac. Laurent was not a large man; it was possible that Damen weighed half again as much as Laurent did, and yet Damen was finding it hard to match Laurent's pace.

"You talk more when you're drinking," Damen observed. Laurent's pronounciation remained crisp long after he was listing somewhat on the chaise. He was lecturing in the manner of a pendantic tutor on a particular point of philosophy. 

"I think I am going to vomit," Laurent interrupted his own lecture suddenly. He did not, but the two of them stumbled together over to Laurent's bed and collapsed there, the bottle abandoned on the other side of the room.

The aftermath of their drinking escapade was horrendous. Damen woke to Laurent cursing the sun, drink, Damen himself, and anything else that seemed to offend him while he lay perfectly still refusing to move. 

There was no invitation that evening.


	3. Chapter 3

But within the next few days Laurent's invitations resumed. 

Damen spent a long evening making love to one of Laurent’s hands, teasing it with his lips. He felt as a bedslave might, pleased with himself as though there were no greater pleasure than the worship of his master. Laurent was more controlled in his responses than any of Damen’s other lovers had been, but Damen could see by the end of the evening that Laurent was affected by his gentle teasing. 

Laurent was even at a loss for words, which Damen considered a victory. “You --” said Laurent, and stopped. His gaze was fixed on his hand, which Damen still held warmly. His eyes slowly moved to Damen’s face. “I --” Laurent started a second time, but he could still not seem to find words as he retreated from the settee for the evening.

Damen began to have a personal ambition of causing Laurent to smile, not just in the bedroom, but at any point, treasuring the small twist of Laurent’s mouth that he could sometimes cajole. 

Not every invitation was without misstep. Damen began one evening by asking, with the warmest intent, “What do you like? Tell me what you enjoy.”

The question caused Laurent to freeze, though. “What do I like?” he said. “Do you really wish to hear of my past?”

That was a completely different question than the one Damen had asked. He felt as sailor out on a boat when a sudden storm emerges when there had been no sign on the horizon. “I didn’t mean -- ” said Damen. “Of course, if you wish to speak of it, I would listen.”

“That is a no,” said Laurent. He dismissed Damen abruptly and did not issue an invitation for close to a week.

It was festival season, so they saw many performances in the theater. A comedy was presented in which all of the women of the city banded together to deny sex to their husbands until the town council agreed to end their war with a neighboring island. Laurent watched the performance with a small frown. The next day the performance was a tragedy in which a woman was so jealous of the looks of her younger lover that she conspired to cut her lover’s hair. Through an accident she slit the throat of her lover instead, and was then devastated in her grief. A noblewoman asked Laurent his opinion of the play afterwards -- Laurent had developed an avid following amongst the Akielon nobility at court -- and he answered only that he found some of the drama to strain credulity.

Damen was reviewing some of the responsibilities he held as the Veretian regent when Erkule mentioned Laurent’s renewed invitation. Damen did not immediately respond, he was preoccupied with one of the records in front of him.

“Could you fetch the prince?” he asked Erkule.

“This evening?” said Erkule, taking Damen’s question as a response to his report of Laurent’s invitation.

“Now,” said Damen. “I wish to speak with him about these records.” Laurent handled most of the day to day business of the regency; Damen’s involvement seemed mostly ceremonial and occasionally required to sign diplomatic missives or official records. 

Laurent arrived. He looked as though he might have been out riding. He raised an eyebrow at Damen. “Yes?”

“You have been paying Veretian accounts out of your own purse,” said Damen. 

“Yes?” said Laurent, sounding as though the only surprising part of this was that Damen was just now realizing.

“The kingdom is insolvent.”

“You can hardly blame me for years of mismanagement while I was a child,” said Laurent.

“I am not blaming you,” said Damen. “I am just trying to understand. Why did you not tell me that there was a problem?”

Laurent shrugged. “I have handled it.”

“But you cannot continue to pay the accounts indefinitely,” said Damen. There was not enough revenue from Laurent’s private estates to make that tenable as a solution for much longer.

“I have four supporters on the council in favor of increased taxes,” said Laurent. “There are two others who simply need some convincing -- I have planned to visit them next season in person to ask for their support.”

“You plan to travel to Vere,” said Damen.

Laurent nodded, slowly, as though he were not sure why Damen was being so slow.

“Why did you not tell me?” said Damen.

Laurent picked at an invisible thread on the sleeve of his jacket. “I did not realize you expected a report.”

“You will be gone for months,” said Damen. “It is only courteous for you to share this with me.”

“All right,” said Laurent, still staring at the cuff of his jacket, refolding it as though there had been something wrong with the previous fold. “I am planning to tour Vere next season, now you know.”

“I will accompany you,” said Damen.

Laurent’s eyes flicked quickly from his sleeve to Damen. Something passed over his face but disappeared before Damen could interpret it. “You do not trust me.”

Damen rubbed his face with his hand. “You are very accomplished at Veretian politics,” he said. “Your plan seems well conceived and I have no doubt you will execute it effectively. I wish to support you in your efforts, to lend my support when the official approval of the regency is needed.”

Laurent regarded him closely. 

“Also,” said Damen, feeling suddenly as though he were treading on very dangerous ground and there might be a rockslide at any moment, “we are newly married and it is appropriate for us to travel together.”

The tenor of Laurent’s gaze did not change, but it lingered on Damen for a long moment.

“All right,” he said, and he left.

That evening, Damen stood for a long moment in front of the carved door in his room, wondering if he were still welcome, and finally settled in to his own bed without knocking.


	4. Chapter 4

The trip to Vere was a study in contrasts. Laurent called the work that he was doing with the Veretian council 'negotiations,' and to Damen, it seemed that what happened in bed between them was a negotiation of the same type, except that Laurent seemed to effortlessly talk the councilors around to his point of view, and in the bedroom and Laurent and Damen both stumbled over their words and took two missteps for every one they managed toward each other.

The first surprise was the first keep they stayed at, where they were placed together in the same chamber. This should not have been as surprising as it was. Bedding a married couple together was not unusual in a small keep, even for royalty, but somehow neither Damen nor Laurent seemed to have foreseen it before they were independently guided to the room and then left staring across the room at each other over the bed.

Damen had begun -- after his success in using his mouth on one of Laurent's hands -- to broaden this technique to consider Laurent's entire body. It was as though he were a fresco artist, and Laurent's body was his medium, and his tongue was the paintbrush, to apply color across the plaster and create a beautiful mural. But unlike a fresco artist, he felt no need to rush to finish the art before the plaster dried, and in fact tended to linger over the work.

Laurent had not expressed any complaints about Damen's slowness in this type of work, which, for Laurent, was akin to another lover expressing effusive appreciation.

One night, in celebration of having convinced yet another councilor of the concern over Vere's finances and brought him around to Laurent's way of thinking, Damen was lingering suggestively over Laurent's lower stomach.

Laurent curled his upper body suddenly, propping himself up on one elbow and using his other hand to tug on Damen's hair so that he could look into Damen's eyes as he spoke.

"I am never going to do that to you," said Laurent.

"Do you wish me to stop?" said Damen, wondering if he should roll off of Laurent, but Laurent still had a grip on his hair.

"I am not going to reciprocate."

Damen paused, considering. "All right." The weight of Laurent's statement hung in the air between them. Damen felt as though Laurent were waiting for him to say more, but he was not sure what to say or what Laurent expected. He could see the lines he had painted a moment before with his tongue glisten on Laurent's chest. Laurent's chest rose and lowered in the dim light with his breath.

Laurent loosened the hand that he had in Damen's hair and let it fall back on his side. Damen lowered his head to continue.

"You are not angry," said Laurent.

Damen looked up again. "There is nothing to be angry about."

Laurent looked perplexed. His arousal had dimmed through their conversation. "But you--" said Laurent. "And I won't."

Damen did roll off of Laurent. "Bed sport is not a trade at the marketplace."

"You can buy bedsport at the marketplace," said Laurent, sounding more confident about that assertion than he had in his previous statements.

Damen nodded his agreement. "And if I wanted, more than to be here, someone to suck me -- I could go to the marketplace and find that. I wish to be here. With you. I want us to find pleasure together."

Laurent looked at him a moment longer. Damen could feel Laurent's eyes moving over his face, flicking from his eyes to his mouth and back. Eventually Laurent reclined back on the bed again. 

It was Damen's turn to hesitate.

"Well?" said Laurent, gesturing arrogantly toward his own body as though Damen were just a bit slow to understand. "Carry on." 

 

Damen's Veretian was quite good. It had been better than Laurent's Akielon when they had first met, though Laurent's fluency had improved a great deal since moving to Akielos, and at some point he had surpassed Damen's fluency in Veretian with his Akielon, especially if you compared their skill at insults. 

There was no doubt that Laurent was familiar with the words for what men did in bed together. Damen had overheard him return insults to Akielon courtiers who muttered names they apparently did not think Laurent would comprehend, and Laurent's responses always surpassed what was said of him in both creativity and filth. 

But Damen would not have guessed this from how Laurent actually spoke when they were in bed together, when Laurent frequently seemed at a loss for words, or without the ability to say what he was thinking, if he could put words to what he was thinking at all.

Sometimes Damen would wait for Laurent to be able to articulate whatever he seemed to be struggling with, but this frequently only made Laurent angry.

They were staying at Fortaine, and Laurent's negotiations with Guion were not going as well as some of his earlier successes. Fortaine was large enough that the keep could have easily housed Damen and Laurent separately, but they had been roomed together in admittedly luxurious quarters.

Laurent seemed even more mercurial than usual. When Damen had arrived, Laurent had been standing at the window, and had seemingly taken no notice of Damen entering the room, so Damen had left him to his thoughts, and had begun quietly to undress without any talk. 

When Damen was wearing only his trousers, Laurent had come over from the window and had stared at Damen with the same intensity he had previously been giving to the courtyard below. Laurent entangled his hands in Damen's hair and brought their mouths together with rather more fierceness than was typical of their couplings.

Damen tried to soothe Laurent with his hands, running his fingers gently over Laurent's shoulders and down his sides. Damen could feel the rise and fall of Laurent's ribcage as he breathed quickly.

Laurent took a step away, frowning as though he were somehow dissatisfied by their kiss. He glanced back toward the window, and then toward Damen again. Laurent had to look up to look Damen in the eye when they stood this close together.

When he spoke, Laurent's tone expressed his frustration. "Just pretend that I am someone else."

It was Damen's turn to frown. "I cannot bed you as if you were someone else."

"Am I so dirty that you cannot even pretend?" said Laurent. His jaw was set and he was staring resolutely at a spot over Damen's right shoulder.

"What?" said Damen. "No."

Laurent met his eyes, looking challenging. Damen thought suddenly that it was as though Laurent used all of his gentle persuasiveness during the day, applied all of his charm to Guion and his advisors, and there was none of that left for Damen at the end of the day when they retired.

Damen thought fleetingly that perhaps he should approach Laurent with sweetness in the morning.

Laurent's eyes were still daring him to continue, so Damen did. "If you were someone else," said Damen, "there would be no feeling between us. To bed you without feeling would be false."

Laurent took a step closer to Damen, and reached out as though he were going to touch Damen's face, though his hand hovered a breath away from touching. "My honorable Akielon," said Laurent, and the tone of his voice had changed, somehow. "There is really no deception in you at all, is there."

Damen captured Laurent's hovering hand in his own and squeezed it gently. He put voice to an idea that had been in his mind for some time. "Would you like to fuck me?"

Laurent echoed the question back to him. "Would I like to fuck you?"

"Yes?" said Damen.

Laurent spoke cautiously as though he were a student in an examination that he hadn't prepared for adequately. "Yes?"

Damen took that as assent, and made a pleased noise, anticipating. "Good," he said. "It has been many years since I have been taken."

"You have been fucked before?" said Laurent, still with the same tentative tone in his voice.

They rarely talked about their past experiences, though Laurent's interest now was reminding Damen that his own past was not laid with as many unexpected hunting traps as Laurent's.

"Yes," said Damen truthfully. "Not frequently," he said. "It is awkward for other men to suggest given our relative status, but when I was younger, yes."

"And you liked it?" said Laurent.

"Yes," Damen said simply.

They did not actually progress that far that evening. It was as though talking about fucking was intimate enough for one night, and then Laurent took his mouth again with a new urgency, and they fell on to the bed as they were making out and finished rutting against each other. Damen did not even manage to get his trousers off; Laurent simply loosened them enough to slip one hand inside.

But the conversation was clearly not forgotten.


	5. Chapter 5

By the time they returned to Akielos, Laurent fucking Damen had become one of their favorite choices for sex. Damen liked Laurent's obvious pleasure in the act; he liked the way being connected made him feel closer to Laurent than anything else. He wished that they could fuck face to face, so that he could see Laurent while they came together, but he was not really flexible enough for that to work easily, and when they had attempted it once it had been awkward and Laurent had seemed impatient and disinterested in figuring out how to make the position work.

Their return to Akielos was celebrated by a theater performance; one of the playwrights had come up with a new comedy. The play featured two male lovers, and the conceit was that they wished to switch between doing each other in bed, except that one of the men had an exceptionally large member and the other objected that it was not reasonable to switch for that reason. The actors wore ridiculous masks and even more ridiculous codpieces to emphasize the central conflict of the difference in size, and the crowd laughed raunchily as the actor would sway his dangling costume from side to side in the manner of an elephant's trunk.

Damen was starting to think that he was doomed to always feel uncomfortable at the theater, reading too much into a performance in relation to his own life, and he tried to smooth the lines of his face to be more neutral. He knew that the men who came to the theater sometimes looked to him as their commander as much as they looked at the actors on the stage, and it would not do to insult the playwright with his personal misgivings.

In the second act, at the point at which it seemed the lovers would be separated forever by their problem, Laurent leaned over from his own seat in the royal box to whisper to Damen.

"I am not sure I like the implications here," said Laurent. "Perhaps it was mislabeled as a comedy; it seems very tragic to me."

Damen laughed out loud, unfortunately in the midst of a rather quiet and serious moment in the proceedings, and his laughter echoed throughout the theater. The actor seemed to lose his words and stopped to stare at the king.

Embarrassed, Damen waved at the actor to continue, and he pushed Laurent away from him firmly, back into the confines of his own chair. Laurent looked terribly delighted by having embarrassed Damen in front of the entire audience, and spent the rest of performance looking unrepentantly smug.

Damen and Laurent were kept from switching positions in bed by a less obvious problem. Damen would have liked to fuck Laurent; he fantasized, sometimes, about the pleasure he could bring to Laurent if he could convince Laurent to abandon himself to just feeling. But he did not wish to pressure Laurent into something which he might not care for or of which he had unpleasant thoughts, so he thought it best to wait until Laurent himself suggested the idea. The fact that Laurent had not yet done so might indicate that he was not as interested as Damen, and Damen tried to be content with what they did have together. They had more together already than Damen had let himself even hope for; it seemed selfish and ungrateful not to appreciate what they did have by thinking over much of what they did not.

Damen knew Laurent much better now than he had when they had first met; he understood Laurent's moods and knew that Laurent's harsh words were more frequently disappointment in himself than they were a criticism of another, however cruel they might sound. 

So he ought not to have been so surprised by how quickly their fight escalated, and yet he was.

Laurent had been in an ill temper much of the day. Guion had sent one of his younger sons as a messenger to Akielos to retract his agreement to financial proposal Laurent had convinced him to sign the previous season, and Laurent was frustrated by this impediment to his plan for Vere, annoyed with Guion for duplicity, and insulted by Guion's refusal to even come in person to tell Laurent this message. He'd reduced Guion's youngest to tears with insults in front of the assembled court and then retreated to go riding by himself for the rest of the day. Damen noted that Guion's son was probably the same age as Laurent himself, though he seemed clearly a boy whereas at some point Damen had begun to think of Laurent as a man.

Damen had known to tread carefully when Laurent returned that evening and summoned him for company, but he was still caught unawares. They kissed, first, in the pushy way Laurent sometimes had when he initiated their encounters. 

Laurent took Damen's mouth with a proprietary air and then bit none too gently along his jawline. Damen could feel the tension in the lines of Laurent's body; he wanted to sooth it, to reassure Laurent. 

"It will be all right," Damen murmured, cupping Laurent's face in his hands and pressing their foreheads together gently. 

It was a mistake. Laurent jerked himself out of Damen's hands and took three steps away. "I am sick of all of this tenderness!" Laurent spat at him. "I know that this is not what you want! Why will you not take me? You are just like him. You think you are honorable but you have all of the same thoughts, why will you not admit them to me!"

Damen would have been less shocked if Laurent had stabbed him in the gut. That would have perhaps hurt less. His mouth was open in surprise but he could find nothing to say, and staggered out of Laurent's room, barely managing to close the doors behind him and lock the door on his side. He turned around with his back to the door and slid down to the floor to bury his face in his arms. He had a new sympathy for Guion's youngest son. 

He could hear the echoes of the Regent’s voice in his head and he wondered if he could ever forget how he had sounded. It seemed hardly fair that sometimes it was hard to recall things such as how his father’s face had appeared when he had been a boy, and yet an awful man he had known only for a few days was burned so indelibly in his memory.

The locked door meant that when Laurent approached in the middle of the night he could not come in. Damen heard him try the door and find the lock, and then Laurent retreated and Damen could hear the soft closing of the second door between their chambers. Damen spread one of his hands against the cool marble of the floor, feeling the tile beneath his fingers.

Commotion began a moment later. Laurent had apparently abandoned the doors connecting their two rooms and was now trying the main entrance. Damen could hear the conversation he was having with Damen’s guards. 

“I need to speak with the king,” said Laurent. His voice sounded composed.

There was a brief dispute between the guard and Laurent as to the likelihood that Damen was asleep and the appropriateness of waking him if so. Laurent won, and entered the room a moment later. Damen could see Laurent take in the room, looking first to the bed, and not finding Damen in it, casting his eyes over the rest of the space until he spied Damen sitting on the floor.

Laurent crossed the room and settled himself on the floor a small distance away from Damen. 

“I am sorry,” said Laurent. “I did not mean it.”

The quiet of the night drew out between them. Damen tore his eyes off of Laurent and settled them again on the lines in the marble of the floor. 

“You prey upon my worst fears,” Damen said. He sounded hoarse.

Laurent’s tone remained even. “I spoke in anger. It is not true and I do not believe it.”

“It might take longer for me to not believe it.”

Laurent’s voice lost some of it’s composure, breaking as he spoke. “But it wasn’t true.”

Damen looked up at him. “The wound is still fresh. You must let it heal.”

Laurent was clearly upset. He was chewing on his lower lip and Damen could see his distress in his face.

“Laurent,” Damen said. He held out one of his hands as a peace offering, extending it palm up if Laurent wanted to take it. Laurent did, and their hands met over the marble floor between them. “Laurent. I forgive you,” Damen said. “But you must not press me right now.”

“You forgive me,” said Laurent, sounding surprised.

“Is the word unfamiliar?”

“You will not send me away?” Laurent asked quickly, and then he looked down at the floor where their hands were joined, as though the question had slipped out as an excited dog might slip a leash.

Damen sighed. “From my bedchamber so I can sleep? Perhaps. From our home? Of course not.”

The room was quiet except for the sound of their breathing. Laurent drew his hand out of Damen’s. “I will go, then.” He stood and looked down at Damen nervously. “I wish that I had never said it.” His voice cracked again, and it was another painful reminder to Damen of how young Laurent still was.

“Good night,” said Damen, and he didn’t let his eyes follow Laurent as he left the room.


	6. Chapter 6

Laurent apologized also to Guion’s son. He was named Aimeric. Laurent paid him the respect of apologizing in front of the same public audience that Laurent had had when he insulted him. Damen would not have thought it possible that anyone could insult a man upon first meeting him as Laurent had Aimeric and then later turn him into an ally, but Laurent seemed to be making a serious attempt. 

In his turn, Aimeric seemed desperate enough to please both his prince and his father that he had not rejected Laurent’s effort. Damen supposed that Laurent had insulted him upon their first meeting as well, and upon their second and third if he recalled correctly, and after all of that they were married. So probably Laurent could turn Aimeric into his ally, and Damen’s worry should be more focused on whether the boy would end up being a rival. Perhaps all of Laurent’s romances began with such acrimony.

With Damen, Laurent seemed to be on his best behavior. He was polite and attentive when they were together at court functions and he avoided Damen in private to give him space. 

They watched another comedy in the theater, this one about a man who was so skilled at pleasing his lovers that he was beset by crowds of admirers following him about everywhere he went hoping for his favors. Laurent sat with rapt attention on the play and did not even attempt to embarrass Damen with whispered comments trying to get him to laugh. 

Aimeric stayed close to a month, and by the time he left he was following Laurent around like one of the hopeful lovers of the man from the play, practically eating out of Laurent’s hand, promising to return to his father breathless with all of the reasons why the financial solvency of Vere depended on him alone. 

“I do not think that Aimeric will persuade his father,” Laurent told Damen, as they bid a formal goodbye to Aimeric and watched his contingent ride out of the gate. “But it will at least be a clear statement that I cannot be rejected with such a messenger.”

Damen looked over at Laurent and felt unreasonably fond. “You are hard to reject,” he said.

Laurent returned his gaze. “Thank you for not sending me away.”

“Send you away,” said Damen. “As if I could.”

“You could,” said Laurent. “The easiest way would probably simply be to make up an excuse to send me somewhere remote -- close to the border, or to one of the islands -- and then you could use almost any pretext to keep me there and from returning. Or if you were not to be squeamish, you could have me thrown into a dungeon, and pretend to be searching for me amongst your enemies, and ruling both the kingdoms while doing so. The Veretians have accepted you as their Regent, you know, when we toured Vere --”

“You are disturbingly creative,” said Damen, interrupting Laurent’s monologue of methods. “But I do not actually wish to be rid of you.”

“I…” Laurent swallowed. “I know you did not wish to marry me any more than I wished to marry you. It was a favor to me, to save me from being declared a spy. You might feel as though you have made a poor bargain, and you seek ways to escape it.”

“I do not feel that way,” said Damen. He rested a hand on Laurent’s shoulder. "And I don’t think that you believe that I feel that way, either, or you would not give me all sorts of ideas on how to dispose of you.”

Laurent gave him a sidelong glance, and there was some amusement in it. “Perhaps they are not my best ideas,” he said, “Or perhaps I only feed you the ideas for which I already have a counter plan in place.”

Damen laughed. “Perhaps so.”

Laurent's face turned more serious yet again. "It would not be so difficult to get rid of me. The Veretians would not like an Akielon king, but they would live with it. I have no one left," said Laurent. "There is no one who would fight for me after I was gone."

Damen squeezed his shoulder briefly. "I would. I am fighting for you now, against you, even."

Later that afternoon, Erkule informed Damen that the prince had issued an invitation for Damen to join him in his chambers that evening.

Laurent seemed slightly hesitant when Damen knocked on the door in between their rooms that evening. They sat on the balcony for a while, their hands clasped together loosely and sipping at fruit-filled chilled drinks. The sun set over the water and Laurent set down his goblet. He extended his hand for Damen’s, as well, and Damen let him take the empty goblet and place it aside on a table.

“I wish we had met differently,” said Laurent. 

Damen made a questioning noise. 

“I wish that we could know each other, that we could come together, without all of the things that are between us.”

Damen sat up on the bench. “Laurent,” he said, “I would give anything if I could change the things that happened to you before we met.”

Laurent made a frustrated noise in his throat. “I do not even care about that,” he said. “I just wish you didn’t know, that you would treat me as you do anyone else that you meet.”

“You are unlike anyone else I have met,” said Damen. The sun was setting over the sea, a red half-circle lowering into the water.

“I wish those things had never happened,” said Damen. “But since they did happen, I cannot regret knowing. You do not need to bear that alone.”

“All you knowing does is drive a wedge between us,” said Laurent. 

“It helps me to understand,” said Damen. “It helps me to not take it personally if I reach for you and you flinch away before you realize.”

“I will control myself,” said Laurent. “I will stop doing that.”

“You do not need such iron-willed control with me,” said Damen. “You do it far less now than you did a year ago.”

“I just --” Laurent seemed to be growing frustrated and made a visible attempt to calm himself. He continued more evenly. “I wish I did not see you thinking of it when you look at me.”

Damen turned on the bench, and used the hand that wasn’t holding Laurent’s to brush a strand of hair away from Laurent’s face. “There are much better things to think of when I look at you,” he said, his voice becoming deeper.

“Is that so?” Laurent said, his manner becoming suddenly coquettish.

“Do you wish me to trail around the court behind you like Aimeric?” Damen said. “Ready to eat sweets fed by your hand?”

“Would you?” said Laurent. He held Damen’s goblet back up, as though he were going to test Damen’s willingness to eat from his hand that very moment. “That is not exactly what I wish.”

Damen just nodded at the goblet, and let the moment draw out between them as Laurent raised it to Damen’s lips and tilted it slightly. Damen sipped. Laurent set the goblet down and leaned in with the same careful slowness, following the goblet with his lips, as he took Damen’s mouth in a kiss.


	7. Chapter 7

After resolving the impending Veretian financial crisis, Laurent turned his attention to the ancient law that prohibited him from officially becoming king until he was twenty-one, and it took him only a fraction of the time to convince the Veretian nobility to agree that the law could be dispensed with and he could be crowned early than it had to taken them to agree to pay higher taxes. Laurent had perhaps become even more accomplished at persuasion in the intervening months, or the nobility was still reeling from his first persuasive attempts and acceded without battle, or perhaps dispensing with a meaningless law was simply easier than attempting to convince men to part with their gold.

The coronation took place in Arles, and so Damen traveled there with Laurent, as the Regent and as his husband, and had agreed to Laurent’s plan to stay in Arles for a time after the coronation took place while things settled. They had thought originally to return to Ios after, though on the way to Arles Laurent had started to talk of building a new capital in the border regions, closer to Marlas. Damen had not yet agreed to this plan, but if Laurent remained set on it, he supposed it was only a matter of time.

Arles was like no place that Damen had ever seen before, more luxurious than any of the keeps or palaces they had visited in Laurent’s tour on taxes, akin to the majesty of the Veretian tent palace Damen had seen at the peace summit yet built of stone and glass rather than colored cloth. Arles bustled with activity surrounding the coronation, and on one of their first days Damen watched from the balcony of the chambers he’d been allotted as some stonemasons and their apprentices worked in the garden to remove a marble statue of the Regent in favor of a new installation that he supposed was Laurent. Damen having an intimate familiarity with Laurent’s body, it seemed apparent to him that the stonemason had not had Laurent near as a model as he worked. Laurent came up alongside where he was watching as they were carefully levering the new statue into position. 

Laurent hummed. “I suppose it will do.”

“It is not a particularly good likeness,” said Damen.

“What do you mean?” 

“Well,” Damen drew out the syllable, Laurent looked mildly impatient. “You aren’t nearly that tall, for one thing.”

Laurent assumed an offended expression, but the corner of his mouth twitched with humor, and when he hit Damen’s arm with his open hand in retaliation it was affectionate and not violent.

“I am a perfectly fine height,” said Laurent. “You are the one who is disproportionate.”

“I know you are responsible for the new Veretian fashion of heeled shoes,” said Damen. 

Laurent smiled broadly. “Did you see Aimeric at supper yesterday?” 

Damen nodded his agreement. “He could barely stand.” Many in Arles were anxious to follow the fashion choices of the new king, but the heeled shoes were a more challenging fashion to adopt than shedding elaborately laced jackets for more draped Akielon wraps. 

“Much less walk,” said Laurent, a distant look in his eyes as he recalled the night before.

The statue overbalanced precariously, and the hovering stonemason shouted at his assistants and they all pulled at the ropes until the monument was steadied on the pedestal safely. 

The coronation was of course a formal Veretian affair, and Damen followed the instructions of careful stewards regarding how he was to dress and where he was to stand and what he was to say. He was the one to endow Laurent first with the symbols of the office, as the acting Regent, but then he had to switch roles in the entire affair to that of Laurent’s Consort and be in turn presented by Laurent with his own crown and scepter. 

The greatest danger during the proceedings seemed to either be that the steward would suffer an attack of nerves or that Damen might fall asleep during the long ceremonial readings. During one of the dullest moments Laurent leaned over to Damen in the seat next to him, held his scepter next to Damen’s suggestively, and said, “Mine’s bigger.”

Damen laughed out loud, and then had to suffer the glares of the entire Veretian court while he controlled himself and the reader continued. Damen turned his own glare on Laurent, who looked innocent and radiated smugness. 

Given the Veretian emphasis on ceremony and tradition, Damen was surprised in the evening by the announcement that the court would then be entertained by a theater performance in the Akielon style. His surprise multiplied when Laurent himself stood before the show to be acknowledged as the playwright.

“You wrote a play?” said Damen.

“Shh, it’s starting.”

The play was about a king; his name was Lorens and he was blond, so it was not hard to guess where the idea for the character had come from. Lorens seemed to be perfect in all ways, leading his kingdom to prosperity and greatness, and the central concept of the play seemed to be that sometimes other people did not sufficiently appreciate Lorens’s achievements.

Lorens was married. His husband was unnamed, but dark-haired and Akielon, so Damen’s eyes narrowed as he was introduced. The husband’s primary purpose in the play seemed to be to make statements in heavily-accented Veretian that had the humorous double meaning of being foolish or confused remarks in Veretian with the same sound as Akielon swears or sexual innuendo. Laurent took repeated advantage, for example, of the fact that the Veretian phrase for “Please fill my goblet” sounded much like “Fuck a goat” in Akielon. 

There were probably a limited number of people in the audience who were proficient enough in both Akielon and Veretian to appreciate this effort, but the Veretians clapped politely at this oddity of an Akielon entertainment and cheered for Lorens, and the Akielons recognized a figure who was clearly a parody of their commander attempting to speak Veretian and saying the most ridiculous things, and laughed uproariously. 

Damen himself attempted to keep his expression stern and disappointed, because he could feel Laurent sneaking little glances his direction to see his reaction, but he was probably not always successful at suppressing a smile. 

Laurent was surrounded by admirers and accolades after the performance, young courtiers tripping over their new and ill-fitting shoes in their effort to impress him or catch his eye. Damen watched from the corner of the room for a while, and then left Laurent to his celebratory party and retired to his chambers. 

He had thought that Laurent would be up most of the night in the celebrations, so he was slightly surprised when Laurent entered the room as Damen was just beginning to undress. 

Laurent undressed also -- his adoption of Akielon-style clothing had had the effect of shortening the process considerably -- and when he was wearing only a thin shirt he seated himself on Damen’s bed. 

Damen divested himself of all of his own clothing; he had less reservations than Laurent did about sleeping in the nude. 

“What did you think of my attempt at the theater?” said Laurent.

Damen climbed onto the bed next to him. “It lacked your usual subtlety.”

“I didn’t want to overestimate my audience,” said Laurent, smirking slightly. 

Damen tackled him, then, pushing him down onto the bed, and Laurent fell back upon the pillows laughing.

“And what did you think of Lorens?” said Laurent.

“He was an attractive fellow,” Damen said. “If only I could find him in my bed tonight.”

Laurent had a playful air. “And what would you do with Lorens, if you found him here?”

“Here?” said Damen, nodding his head to where Laurent lay on the bed beneath him. 

“Yes,” said Laurent. “What would you do with Lorens, when you got him under you?”

Damen pretended to consider the matter. “First, I would hold him, like this,” Damen demonstrated with Laurent, shifting his weight more squarely over Laurent in the bed, and capturing Laurent’s wrists within one of his own hands and pressing them gently to the pillow over Laurent’s head.

“Yes?” said Laurent, sounding interested. “And then?”

“Then,” Damen said, feeling Laurent squirm a bit beneath him and tightening his grasp in response. “Then I would tell him that I have wonderful husband who is more attractive than he is, and also a rather vindictive playwright, and so that if he does not want to feature in some form of epic tragedy he should exit my bed.”

“Too bad for Lorens,” said Laurent.

“Yes,” Damen agreed, rolling his hips against Laurent beneath him, and feeling Laurent move in response. 

“And his husband seems more interested in goats than --” which was as far as Laurent got before Damen took his mouth in a kiss. 

They kissed for a time, until Damen paused to catch his breath. He released Laurent’s hands, but Laurent kept them folded above his head anyway. Damen looked at Laurent beneath him. Laurent was breathing quickly with arousal, his hair disarrayed and his face flushed with warmth and passion. His lips were red from kissing and he seemed perfectly content gazing up at Damen on the bed. 

Laurent shifted suddenly and reached toward a table next to the bed. He took a small phial and pressed it into Damen’s hand, then moved his wrists again above his own head to the same position Damen had caught them in before. “Please,” Laurent said simply, and Damen nodded.

Afterward, Laurent was hesitant and playful and satisfied and smug, all at once. “It was wonderful,” Laurent said, not moving from where he was resting his head on Damen’s stomach. “Let’s do it again. Do I need to write another play to put you in the mood.”

“What if we do it again and you promise not to write another play,” said Damen.

Laurent shifted to prop his head up on his arm and look at Damen on the bed. Damen felt desperately and helplessly in love with him even before Laurent smiled at him sweetly. “And I was just starting to like Akielon theater.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm finished! Yay. Thanks for reading along as I wrote.


End file.
